


In all my dreams, he drowns.

by oceansinmychest



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9482822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: Your father's coin is in your hand. His legacy and his greed for gold embed itself into your worn palm. You say good bye to the memory, hoping to forget, but Kenways never forget the pain they've endured.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was a drabble that I originally posted on my roleplay blog for Haytham. I love entertaining how he would reflect on Edward in his later years after everything he has endured. I hope you all enjoy this!

Boston’s pier is lonely at night. Haytham Kenway looks to the sea and wonders what type of father his man had been. Knows it from fuzzy, muted memories. A hero in his starry eyes, memories neglected in his worn, leather bound journal. The wood creaks beneath his feet, moaning a feeble protest. Tradeships sway to a siren song that only sailors remember. A calloused hand grazes the pillar. There’s a splinter in his finger that he’ll forget.

Tonight, the wind is howling mad. His overcoat splutters and coughs, the breeze too much to endure. The Grand Master grounds himself. Digs his heels deeper into the harbor. Wood cracks, but doesn’t break all the way. He fingers his collar bone past the ruffles and cotton that keeps him warm. Sinks deeper to his chest. Dips into his pockets. Searching for something inside himself, this is how it goes.

* * *

’  _Father, will you read me the tale of Blackbeard again?_ ’

Edward Kenway smiles, his blue eyes as bright as the sea at day. He laughs at his boy, ruffles his hair as he’s done countless times before. A young Haytham stands on the tips of his toes, looking up in silent admiration.

’ _Lad, have you not heard the tale aplenty? Well enough. Come sit by the fire and I’ll start from the beginning–_  ’ 

* * *

No longer does he have his father’s pistol holder, leather lost to a fire in another country, but he has something. A coin picked up from a permanent tropical place. It’s a peso from Havana. Haytham holds it up to the moonlight. It’s rusted. Faded, faded, faded.

His father's words echo inside his head. Loud and distant simultaneously.

’  _I’ve got a gift for you, son. One from my journeys of days old._ '

The coin glitters then. So shiny, so bright. It’s a future full of potential. He thanks his father. Hugs it tight. Keeps it for decades. Haytham holds onto it as he had when he was but a boy.

"I’ve no use for tarnished gold or outdated coinage, Father. I need only move forward."

The Templar throws the coin out to sea. Watches it drown like a sailor. Alone, Haytham stands on the pier with his brothers laughing inside The Green Dragon – the only family he needs. Alone, he throws away his grief and forgets about the only woman he loved. Alone, he forgets himself and begins to walk away.

 


End file.
